Etched in Stone, Written in Clay
by sofakingwhat
Summary: Clayface and Batman arrive at the same painful revelation of life as they see first hand how cold and cruel the world can be. Like any of us, they are forced to choose how they will then face life, in a story of change and realization.
1. Chapter 1

It was a new day. The sun, much like the eyes that gazed upon it, burned brightly with bourgeoning intensity. With the birth of the day was born the hope for a new way to live; a chance to escape all that was etched in stone and written in clay. A second chance, he thought to himself as his eager hands grasped the freshly polished handles at the entrance of Wayne Tech, "a second chance for me."

A second chance perhaps, for all of us.

In the glass doors before him was an unavoidable image of all that was behind him. Where trees once stood and flowers once bloomed centuries ago now had evolved, maybe devolved, into iron buildings and cement streets. His hands still clasping the handle bars, he hesitated for a moment. He could almost feel lifetimes of disappointment, frustration, and discontent radiate off the collage of images he saw in the glass doors. The chipped sidewalks, polluted streets, and haggard expressions of those walking behind him contrasted the pristine architecture of the Wayne Tech building. Fitting, he thought to himself. It was quite appropriate, at least in his mind, that irregardless of how bleak things were outside, it was all behind him now.

Gently inhaling, he finally opened the doors and entered into the office space of Wayne Tech. Upon stepping foot into the building, he was immediately in awe of how truly massive and spacious the interior was. For the first time in a long time, he felt small again, he felt like a part of something much larger than himself. However, his wonderment stemmed not from intimidation but rather excitement. A sense of genuine enthusiasm swept over him as it sunk in that he would actually be working here.

Today was the first day of his new job, but it meant so much more to him than just that. This was more than a mere change of setting or a change of position; this was almost rejuvenation for him; mind, body, and spirit. Since this was his first day he wanted nothing more than to make the best first impression he possibly could. With that in mind, he quickly regained his composure after his initial bedazzlement at the sheer magnitude of the building's interior, and he proceeded to the receptionist's desk.

As he made his way towards the receptionist's desk his eyes continued to roam, admiring the sharp craftsmanship of the interior design down to even the minutiae details. Conversely, from across the room the young receptionist's eyes fixated on him alone the moment he entered. She was no more than 25 years old, and everyday without fail at least one man passing by her desk would be captivated by her beauty. By now she had become quite desensitized to the wash of faces that passed by her desk each day, but there was something different about this man who had just entered. She had never seen him before and knew nothing about him, heightening her already growing interest in him.

Approaching her desk his eyes engaged hers and he spoke, his voice as smooth as the silk Italian suit he wore, "My name is John Andrews; I'm new. I have a meeting with a Ms. Stevenson who is supposed to show me around and help me get acclimated with everything here." There was a charisma about him that shone through every confidant word he spoke to her, capturing her heart with the subtly of a smile. Coyly she responded, "Ms. Stevenson isn't in yet. What time is your meeting with her supposed to be?"

With unwavering eyes, he continued to stare into her starry eyes and said, "9 o' clock." She answered, "Well Ms. Stevenson usually gets in at about 8:45 and," pausing to look at her watch, "you're about 20 minutes early." Unaffected, he gracefully added, "I have no problem waiting." "I like that," she found herself quickly saying, and then she went on, "I had a boyfriend who was always in such a rush and couldn't stand waiting for anything. I hated that about him."

With a faint flirtatious tone in his voice, John inquired, "I hope things are going better for you with your current boyfriend." Idiosyncratically twirling one of the long locks of hair brushing against her shoulder, she divulged, "Actually I'm not seeing anyone right now…" After she finished speaking, his smile widened, ever so slightly revealing a small crease line on his cheek that gave his 30 year old face a distinguished quality, and he said, "I take that it's by choice. I would find it quite hard to believe that someone as breathtaking as you would not already be taken." She blushed as he said that, and in that instant he knew he had her. Countless times she had heard similar lines from men, but never had she received a compliment with such grace and dignity as from this man she had just met. Curiously she inquired, "How about you Mr. Andrews, is there someone special in your life?" He lightly leaned forward onto the desk and coolly said, "I'd like to think there could be."

Before she had an opportunity to speak again, the two heard the glass doors open, and walking towards them was a middle aged woman, dressed sharply from head to toe, her hair tightly set. Matching her kept attire was her uniform demeanor, evident in her authoritative stride. Sometimes she would lament how much easier her job would be if she was a little taller, or a little older, or even a little heavier; anything at all to make her seem more intimidating to command everyone's respect. As a result, from day one she purposefully tried not to be too friendly to her employees. She never wanted to tamper with the social schism between employer and employee. Surely she would laugh with them, speak with them, and be nice to them, but at the end of the day she made it clear through her creaseless suits and terse demeanor that she was the boss, and she was in charge.

As she approached the desk, the receptionist perkily greeted her, "Good morning Ms. Stevenson. This is the new guy Mr. John Andrews. He says he has a 9 o' clock meeting with you." Turning towards John, she was immediately impressed with what she saw. Physically, he was an undeniably handsome man she thought to herself. He was good looking, but more importantly he was very attractive to her. His eyes gleamed with strength and vitality, as if his eyes permeated with enthusiasm and a luster for life from within his soul. Moreover, she could feel a sense of sincerity about him. So many of her coworkers and employees were as lifeless as the four concrete walls surrounding her, and at times, enclosing her. He on the other hand, he was different. His mere demeanor spoke volumes to her. He was not a man here bound to the dollar and a slave to his apathy. He was a man that seemed to demand more from life. Shaking his hand and looking into his eyes, she could tell that this man was genuinely happy to be here, happy to be alive. She hoped her instincts were correct.

"Mr. Andrews, yes, I spoke to you on the phone last week. You're early. I hope Dawn here didn't bore you too much while you were waiting." The three laughed at that, and smiling, John interjected, "not at all, I found her quite charming to speak with." A hue of deep red shaded Dawn's face, and Ms. Stevenson, also contented by what John had said, added, "Good, I'm glad to know that my employees are getting along well together. Speaking of which, come with me John and I'll show you around the building and introduce you to your other coworkers. I hope you hit it off with them as well as you have with Dawn." Easing up from leaning on the reception desk, John began walking with her towards the elevator and said from his heart, "I'm excited to meet everyone." As they made their way to the elevator, John stole a quick glance back and made eye contact with Dawn. Her eyes wed in harmony with his as they visually said goodbye. He smiled once more at her briefly and then continued on his way with Ms. Stevenson onto the elevator.


	2. Chapter 2

He meant what he had said; he truly was excited to meet everyone. As the elevator began to silently ascend his eyelids slowly shut. The hush calm inside the elevator seemed so far away from him. With each floor the elevator climbed his anxiety escalated as his mind echoed with blaring thoughts of all that might or might not happen in the seconds to follow. Anticipation begot nervous tension as he repeatedly reminded himself that so much could happen, so much could change. What if they don't like me? What if I don't like them? He stopped himself for a second, and then allowed himself to question, "…What if things don't work out?" The only thing John Andrews had ever asked for in his entire life was for a chance, and this was his big break. As he stopped at that conclusion the elevator too had reached its stop, the sound of the opening elevator doors penetrated his thought.

"This is it." Ms. Stevenson commented as she and John stepped off of the elevator. In a dreamlike haze, Ms. Stevenson courteously displayed the entire office floor to John, introducing him to the gallery of neighboring coworkers. To his utmost relief, each coworker he met was very cordial to him. In the fleeting moments he shared with each of them, their friendliness put his pulsing heart and racing mind at ease, making him feel genuinely at peace. His natural charm seamlessly integrated him into the fabric of the office as if he were a staple of the company for the past 10 years. It was as if each coworker were reuniting with an old friend. John had that special something about him in the way he listened and the manner he spoke. His evident enthusiasm and gentleness made his coworkers feel special and important which they in turn reciprocated back to him.

At long last, Ms. Stevenson stationed John at his designated cubicle. Though her face was her mind's ally, her eyes betrayed her, disclosing her ardent pleasure with John and the manner in which he had charmed the office. Her eyes said to him what words seldom ever can. Still, Ms. Stevenson was his boss, and as such she had no intention of being anything but that. Every morning, when the day is still young, she forces herself to remember that to succeed as a boss in a position of power, she cannot show weakness.

Of course, emotion can be the greatest of weaknesses.

Realizing her momentary lapse in her typically stringent composure, she wished him luck starting his first day and left him to start working. Much like the morning, the rest of the day unraveled to perfection for John. Often, the cubicle work would become tiresome and even loathsome for the other coworkers, but not for John. No, he relished the novelty and splendor of it all. He had seen so much in his life, but there was something curative in the humbleness of this new job. He truly appreciated what it was to work an honest day's work and interact with others who were his equals in everyway. They worked the same work, they ate together, and most importantly, they were all in this together. He liked the fact that he was a part of a group. He liked that he was no longer alone, on his own.

Despite the many whom John had befriended, there was one who was not impressed; always one. Late in the afternoon John had decided to take a brief rest from his cubicle and as he headed towards the coffee machine he noticed someone already there. From afar, the man hauntingly resembled John. The suit, the hair, even his physical frame were all too familiar to John. As he neared the coffee machine, John's apprehension gradually subsided as it became quite clear to him that their perceived similarities were merely skin deep. The man stood in stark contrast to John, his lax posture hinting at his smug demeanor. Reflecting off his mug, his smarmy smirk glinted in its flickering light.

Nevertheless, John confidently introduced himself to this man, still elated by his newfound camaraderie with the other coworkers. Eye to eye, face to face, John began to speak, "I don't think we've met. I'm John Andrews; it's my first day here." For the first time all day his voice shook as he spoke. There was something intimidating about this man. Cold and blue, the man's eyes and demure expression conveyed such self assurance, dwarfing John's desire to fit in. Before he answered John, he first made a point to sip his coffee once more, and upon finishing, he dismissively responded to John, "Oh, you're new. I'm Clayton Matthews. "

All day those words had filled John with such hope and prospect for life, but coming from this man, they seemed so empty, so meaningless. He reveled in the fact that this was his new job, his new coworkers, and most importantly, the fact that he himself was new. The novelty of it all was a sort of soulful, emotional, and mental cleansing for him, but he knew that even the brightest light is eternally bound to its shadow.

Still avoiding direct eye contact with John, the man disinterestedly finished, "It's all yours." After saying that, he turned around and walked away from the coffee machine out of sight. For a passing second, his callow eyes like a devil's scythe pierced John's; almost goading him with his condescending attitude.

Although his coarse conversation with Clayton disturbed John, it did not perturb him. Entering into the day, John had realistic expectations of what things would be like. This was his chance, his opportunity to be successful and happy. At the same time however, he was aware that things would not be easy, and in truth, he did not want them to be. He wanted, no, he needed things to be real, to be honest, and in life he knew that there would always be some people like Clayton Matthews. Thus, he did not fault Clayton for his arrogant and to an extent rude behavior; it was the nature of the beast. Clayton Matthews was just being Clayton Matthews, something which John Andrews could relate all too well to. Instead, John remained unflappably positive; out of all the new people he had met, the majority of them he now considered friends. Friends; it was such a simple yet majestic thought to him. In this life everyone would not like him and he knew it, and so he was perfectly contented to know that there were people who did.

The whole experience felt so much like a dream to John because in a way, it was his innermost dream made flesh. He felt accepted, he felt special. His dreams had become more than mere flesh he arrogantly thought to himself. This feeling could never wither or die in his heart. The bond, his connection to the office culture was more like solid, permanent stone to him; unbreakable and unchangeable.

Nearing the end of the day, John was surprised to see how fast the time had passed. Going into this, despite his enthusiasm he was cognizant that working a 9 to 5 day would have its share of ups and downs. Contrarily, he was surprised to see that his attention never waned. As he prepared to leave for the day, he glanced at his reflection in the shut off monitor in front of him.

Momentarily he did not recognize the face staring back at him. It seemed different. Continuing to stare at the reflection, he intuitively knew it was he whose eyes looked back at him, but there was still a lingering dissociation from the face. Perhaps it was his hair; he had never brushed it this way before. Maybe it was the new suit or his freshly shaved face that was different. He didn't want to consciously admit it, but he knew that although those things were different, it was he who had changed.

Pleased with the days work, he arose from his chair, cheerfully said goodbye and good evening to his coworkers, his friends, and then he contentedly exited from Wayne Tech.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the course of the next few months, life unraveled before John as if penned by his heart. His relationship with Dawn was something he never expected, and honestly thought he would never experience. Certainly he had dated countless faceless women that exited his life as quickly as they had entered. Dawn however, she was different. John struggled to admit it, but without question he knew in his heart that she meant the world to him. Every morning John would greet her with tenderness in his eyes and flowers in his hands. From the first second he laid eyes upon her he knew he was attracted to her, but as they began dating, something more concrete, something more permanent began to emerge. The way she listened intently to him, the subtle way she pressed her soft cheek against his chest made him feel like he mattered. She made him feel alive once more.

Likewise, John's career at Wayne Tech soared. His marked dedication to even the most mundane aspects of his work inspired those around him and slowly transformed the office culture. The entire office fed off the radial passion from John, and as their enjoyment of their work increased, so too did their productivity. Admiring him from afar, Ms. Stevenson, much like everyone else, attributed the steady improvement in productivity directly towards the new employee toast of the office.

Indifference, unfortunately, drifted into disdain over time. In the distance, Clayton Matthews' apathy towards John became a consuming enmity. He could not fathom how this one man could change everything so completely, so quickly. For years Clayton had been at Wayne Tech, toiling away at this pointless job that was beneath him. It wasn't conceitedness; it was the truth he told himself. He was better than this place and these people, yet all of a sudden now, those things became important to him. He tortured himself wondering how this John Andrews was able to sweep everyone off their feet. Everyone was so smitten with him, even Dawn. He paused for a second as he thought that. Before John had arrived, he never thought twice about Dawn. In his opinion, she was beneath him as well and not worth his time. More and more now he found himself jealous, no, not jealous he reflexively reminded himself, that Dawn was so in love with this new guy. What makes this John Andrews so special?

After three months had passed, Ms. Stevenson assembled everyone for an office floor meeting. With his characteristic motivation, John made his way to the meeting room early, intending to be the first one there for the meeting and the last one to leave. Once he entered, John chose to sit in the second row and wait in anticipation for everyone else to arrive and for the meeting to begin.

Not long after he sat down, a looming shadow enveloped him. To his left stood Clayton Matthews who was preparing to sit down next to him. John could clearly tell Clayton had been smoking earlier as he often noticed him sneaking out of the building midday to smoke. The cindered aroma emanating off of Clayton briefly choked John, and as Clayton sat down he condescendingly remarked, "It's not going to last forever you know."

Slightly confused, John responded, "the meeting?" Grimly, Clayton expanded, "This high you're on. I know you feel pretty good right now, but trust me, I've seen it plenty of times before. You're the flavor of the month right now, and I hate to say it, but soon everyone will have forgotten about you and you'll be just another face in the crowd."

His comments mildly irked John, but he did not take Clayton's words personally; though his sentiment did hurt John to an extent, he knew Clayton could not change who he was. John allowed his words to settle, and then responded candidly, "…look, yesterday is gone. All I can do is live for today. I honestly believe if I try my best today, the future will work out fine." Clayton shot him a curious expression after he finished speaking as he realized he had underestimated the resolve of John's character. The other workers filed into the meeting room and Clayton conceded that he would have to wait to finish their conversation as the meeting was about to begin.

Immediately upon entering, Ms. Stevenson made eye contact with no one, not even herself as she temporarily stared at her reflection in the window. Addressing the other workers, she was as nervous as she was excited. The bulk of her speech was an assessment of the increased productivity of their floor and management's pleasure with their hard work. All the workers, save one, felt validated that their hard work had been recognized and they knew that John had been the catalyst. Ms. Stevenson was fully aware of this as well, and to close her speech, she eagerly announced "We've seen such a welcome change to the office over the past few months and I'd like to thank each and every one of you for that." In mid sentence, her eyes sparkled as they turned towards John's, which Dawn, unimpressed, noticed. Ms. Stevenson concluded, "One man in particular, I feel has risen above and shown tremendous leadership qualities and has been instrumental in this change. That's why I would like to publicly announce that I'm promoting John Andrews to floor supervisor."

Upon hearing those words, John became speechless, his mind unable to articulate the pride that overcame him. In a flashing instant however, he regained his composure and graciously accepted this promotion. Thanking Ms. Stevenson, he smiled at the crowd in the meeting room and observed the congratulatory faces of his coworkers. They were all in agreement that John deserved the promotion because he had earned the promotion. It was hard for them now to even contemplate what the office was like before John Andrews had entered it.

As John's eyes roamed through the supportive faces of his coworkers, he glimpsed a clear image of one face that told an entirely different story. After Ms. Stevenson had announced his promotion, John stood up humbly, but next to him he could almost feel the glut of Clayton's transparent bitterness pulling him down. Clayton did not flinch nor move one inch as John stood up and accepted the promotion. Nevertheless, his embitterment poisoned the air around him, much the same as the residue of the cheap cigarette smoke that pacified him.

In that moment in time it all became very real to Clayton. Up until this point, he felt he was contending with a man who had stolen the affection of their coworkers. Now instead he realized that this John Andrews was reaping substantive benefits also. Perhaps even worse, he had gained their respect, something quite foreign to Clayton. For five years Clayton had, in his mind, slaved at this treadmill of a job. Five years he had spent, no wasted, working at Wayne Tech and had never once received a promotion or incentive to go on, yet he did go on everyday. Conversely, this guy, this new guy who had only been there for a cup of coffee now had both their love and respect? Towards the close of the meeting everyone joined in a round of applause in support of John and all he had accomplished. Clayton clapped as well, though his claps were, like everything else in his life, for himself alone.


	4. Chapter 4

He might have been furious, but he was not blind. Clayton could see that he would require help to bring down this John Andrews, help from an unlikely source. Near the close of the meeting, Clayton took notice that he was not the only one dissatisfied. To Clayton's pleasant surprise, Dawn wore her overt displeasure with Ms. Stevenson fawning over John like the clothes covering her petite body. Clayton, on the other hand, secretly harbored his resentment towards John internally, while externally clapping in support of him.

Hours after the meetings end, Clayton asked Dawn to meet with him downstairs near the boiler room. It was urgent, he had told her, and even then, she begrudgingly accepted his invitation. Hate was too strong of a word to describe her opinion of Clayton, but in truth, she did not like the man. She saw Clayton for who he was; an unbearable loathsome human being. Nevertheless, something in his voice, something in the way his eyes penetrated her own peaked her curiosity. Despite her initial instincts, she met up with Clayton alone.

Much like the immolating hatred burning away at Clayton's insides, the boiler room corrosively stagnated with unrelenting hot air. Upon entering, the charred smog desiccated Dawn's formerly soft and supple skin. Inhaling, she abruptly coughed, and hoarsely stated, "I can barely breathe here," to which Clayton responded, "You'll get used to it."

After hearing him say that, she could tell that this was not, by any means, a social call, which simultaneously relieved and unnerved her. She was relieved that he had not invited her here in some bizarre and futile attempt to court her affection or declare his undying love for her. At the same time, she was now unsettled by the unknown. She had no idea what it was that he wanted to tell her or wanted from her, and it quickly began to frighten her.

Propping one arm up against the wall, Clayton began to speak, his eye locking into the rages of the fires in the boiler. "I hate to have to say this, I really do, but…you do know how and why John was promoted don't you?" Dawn hesitated as she carefully selected her words. Intuitively she knew he deserved the promotion, but for some reason the whole thing made her uncomfortable, and now the fact that Clayton seemed to know something she did not further ignited her intrigue. Still, she remembered that she did love John while she had never been too fond of Clayton. Cautiously, she responded, "…John deserved it, nobody," and as she emphasized the word nobody she struck a confrontational glance at Clayton, "has worked as hard as John these past few months."

"That's just it," he rebutted, "he's only been here a few months and already he's climbed the ladder faster than you or anyone else who has been here for years. I'm not taking anything away from the guy, he's a good worker, don't get me wrong, but haven't you sometimes been noticing something strange between him and Ms. Stevenson."

For the longest time that thought had scared Dawn, and like everything else Dawn feared, she tried to avoid it. However, his inquiry unavoidably brought the issue to the forefront and she was finally forced to face it. A part of her felt repulsed every single bothersome time Ms. Stevenson walked by John. Dawn interpreted the friendly glances and refined tone in Ms. Stevenson's voice when she spoke to John as rancid warning signs that there was more to their relationship than met the eyes.

Meekly, Dawn avoided the issue and said, "…what do you mean?" Insistently, Clayton answered, "C'mon Dawn, you know probably better than anyone else that something is not right with Ms. Stevenson and Andrews. He's spun his little charming web and lulled this place into his grasp." Dawn fully understood all he had said, but the naked ramifications of it frightened her and she formed a timid look on her face. Taking notice his words had penetrated and begun to sway Dawn, Clayton aggressively pressed on, "Don't you get it? He's been using you and everyone else to gain favor around here; he is taking advantage of your kindness and repaying you by cheating on you with Ms. Stevenson to move up in the company."

Dawn had long fought against accepting that possibility and tried her hardest to never entertain that thought. Here however, Clayton, as repulsive as he was, had put all the cards on the table. Mentally she did not want to admit it. Her mind told her over and over that it was impossible for John to be having an affair with Ms. Stevenson; that could never be the reason why he had been promoted. Deep in her heart, deeper than any depth her mind could ever reach, she believed Clayton. Those stares, the wandering eyes of Ms. Stevenson, it was all there right under her nose. The sad truth was that Dawn had concluded this long before this conversation; until now she merely would not allow herself to believe it.

In a final boon to John, who, she consciously reminded herself, had never done anything remotely bad or suspicious, she contended to Clayton, "…I don't believe you. John is not like that. You don't know him." With the piercing sharpness of a knife, a smile carved across his face and he said, "I don't know him? Fine, confront him about it then. I can tell you exactly what he will say. He will not directly deny it. Instead he will reverse the discussion and question your love for him." Now more than anything else, she felt compelled to ask John if anything was going on between him and Ms. Stevenson if, for nothing else, just to prove Clayton Matthews wrong. Of course, this is precisely what Clayton had wanted her to do, and as she opened the rusted boiler room door, she turned to him and said, "You are wrong Clayton. You are wrong." Smirking, Clayton remained in the boiler room and as she was leaving he said, "I hope I am."

The open door aerated the stuffy boiler room, but to Clayton, the change in atmosphere bothered him and he reached to close the door.


	5. Chapter 5

Later in the week, Dawn had invited John out to dinner with the hopes of uncovering the truth to his possible affair. The entire evening had made her uncomfortable. In lieu of her feelings, she had brought them to their favorite restaurant and ordered their favorite meal, but the familiarity of it all could not gloss over the dirt stained picture she had in her mind. In the minutes to follow, Dawn's world could fall to pieces. She wanted to worry what she would say when she learned it wasn't true, but more and more she just couldn't help but take precedence in what she would say if she learned it was true. It can't be true, she kept telling herself, I know it can't be true.

Her unsteady breathing, her jittered hands revealed the gravity of what she had brought him to talk about. Without having to utter a word, John could hear her almost crying out to him that there was something deeply troubling her. Breaking the tense silence he said, "Is there something wrong?" "I don't know…" she weakly responded, and with rising courage she added, "is there?"

John paused from eating his food and appeared genuinely confused. With increasing confidence, Dawn continued, "…we hardly see each other anymore and you seem awfully close to Ms. Stevenson these days." Her accusations flared his temper, and John sharply quipped, "What do you mean?" The heightened tone in his voice ensnared her as well and she divulged, "Is there something going on between you two? Tell me the truth John!"

John's first instinct was to angrily deny her blatantly false accusations. How dare she, he found himself thinking, he felt completely justified in shouting at her and scolding her for even insinuating such an asinine idea. He was about to, the words trickling from the lips she had kissed many times, but he stopped himself. With a breath of air, his fury subsided as he found the strength to put those dark feelings behind him. He told himself that things were different now; he was different now and there was no place or need to hurt her in anyway.

Patiently he said to her, his expression and attitude calming, "What a silly thing to ask. Ms. Stevenson is my boss, my friend, but you are the one I love. Do you not love me?" His hesitation led her to assume that he had filtered his response and had not been honest with her. No matter, away on a gentle cloud of love and relief, Dawn floated on his words. She loved to hear that he loved her; it blew breath in the life she lived. His patience made her feel even more guilty for even questioning her lo-, just then, Clayton's words blitzed her mind. He was right she thought to herself, he was right. Her heart sank as she sat up in her chair, trying to appear attentive and apologetic to John. She dare not confess it, but on the inside she was torn apart, her love for him a casualty of the war for truth. As they finished their meal together, she did not know what to believe anymore. All she knew was that she had to speak with Clayton once more.

Afterwards, Dawn met with Clayton for a second time. Again rendezvousing in the boiler room, Dawn was not averse to the thick furnace smoke this time. Her disillusionment in John smothered her previous apprehension and distaste for the boiler room temperature to the point now that she hardly even noticed any change in the climate from the hall into the boiler room. Her disheartenment shone through her better judgment as she willingly became a pawn in Clayton's plan. She now desired more than anything to unveil the truth about John, the whole truth. As Clayton and Dawn conspired, they came to the revelation that although they had worked side by side this man for months, what did either of them truly know about this man?

Despite the fact that Dawn had been in a relationship with John for months now, she hardly knew any specific details about him. She knew his name was John Andrews. She had no knowledge of where he grew up or where he was from or even if he had a family. He often evaded such questions or briefly mentioned having jobs or relationships in the past. So much of him was a mystery. All she or anyone else at the office truly knew about him was that he was a hard working, decent man, but unfortunately, that was not enough for Dawn and Clayton Matthews.

As they discussed this, Clayton pondered, "John Andrews…I doubt that's even his real identity. If only I could run a background check on him, then we could get some real answers and find out just who this guy is." Interested, she replied, "Why can't you?" Clayton knew he had her and went on, "For the background check to work, I would need some type of identification from a driver's license or credit card to grant access." Dawn hastily answered without grasping the weight of her words, "leave it to me, he won't even notice." Jealousy and betrayal had now overtaken Dawn and she neither regretted nor reconciled her course of actions.

While John slept the next night, Dawn was awake. He slept silently and peacefully; she stalked through the apartment nervously and at war with herself. It was like a disease in the most despairing sense of the term. Dawn could see John was harmless as he lay in bed, gently inhaling and exhaling through his nose, but behind the face, behind the innocence she could feel was a monster, a man who was lying to her every time he said he loved her. She could not let it go; she could never let it go. More than anything else in this beautifully hideous Gotham City, she had to know the whole truth about this man.

In the dark she crept through the apartment in search of his wallet. Digging inside the pockets of his pants, she removed the wallet. Deftly observing its contents, she was not surprised to see he had no pictures in it. As she searched inside it, she noticed he did not have a driver's license. She knew he did not own a car, but he had told her it was foolish to try and drive in Gotham, and instead he would walk or take the train. Another lie, she told herself. Finally she came upon a credit card, and satisfied with her work, she returned the wallet to his pants pocket and exited the apartment with the credit card, and without kissing him goodbye.


	6. Chapter 6

Early the next morning John arrived at Wayne Tech to start another day of work. The sun shone and the faithful wind blew against his back, but rather than soothing him, an eerie feeling crawling upon him as he entered the building. For the past few weeks he had felt things beginning to sour between him and Dawn. He knew she had been increasingly cold to him since his promotion. "I'll make it up to her," he thought, and everything will be like it was again. In his hands he held a dozen roses he intended to give to Dawn. The night before he dreamt of the entire scenario and mapped out every second of the day, step by step. First he would surprise her with flowers and she would melt in his hands. Then he would take her out after work, just the two of them, and under the hopeful stars all else would fade away.

His plans were shelved instantly as he looked around the lobby. He knew Dawn was scheduled to work today, but he did not see her at the receptionist desk; in fact, he did not see anyone in the lobby. Normally he would be greeted by at least 2 or 3 coworkers arriving at the same time as he, and together they would ascend the elevator to their floor. He rested the flowers on her desk and assumed she was probably running a little late. She would know they were from him; she knew him.

The office, the sky outside looked the same today as it did every day, but things seemed off to him, they seemed different. Alone he walked into the elevator and it carried him to his floor. Perhaps it was mere coincidence he reasoned, maybe I'm making too much out of it. In all honesty, the typically bustling Wayne Tech office felt deserted, and he in turn, felt as an island. Leaving the elevator, his escalating nerves took further hold of him as he did not see anyone around. The cubicles, coffee machine, the entire floor was barren in an arid state of dimly hued computer monitors and fluorescent lights. What was happening he thought, his mind going into arrest considering the myriad of possibilities that could account for this haunting visual.

Just then, when it felt as if his veins would burst with uncontainable nervous tension, he began to hear voices, several voices emanating from the meeting room. Guided like light he curiously inched closer and closer towards the meeting room, internally rattled by the elaborate subterfuge of everyone in the office. As he drew nearer, he realized the entire floor was in the meeting room, and accordingly they noticed his presence as well.

Whereas once upon a time they would merrily greet John with smiles and hand shakes, the only gestures they could conjure today were a roomful of disappointed faces. As he entered, a visibly troubled Ms. Stevenson struggled in vain to hide her emotional pain and in an empty voice she asked John, "…is it true?"

John had no idea what all this was about but he sensed things were happening for the worse. Puzzled, he responded, "What are you talking about? What is going on here?" Cockily, Clayton interrupted, "That's what we would all like to know, John Andrews. Tell me, did you come up with that alias all by yourself or was there actually a real John Andrews at one time?"

John's breaking heart pulsated and his angered frustration mounted, and he said, "What did you say you arrogant…" Cutting off John, Ms. Stevenson interjected, "Dawn and Clayton tell me that after performing a regular background check, they found several fraudulent bank accounts and faulty identities that can be traced back to you. So I ask again, is it true?" Ms. Stevenson's voice did not tremble or quiver despite the pain each word she was forced to ask inflicted on her. She trusted him. She allowed herself to befriend this man and treat him like an equal. They were not boss and employee, they were Jennifer and John in her mind. She knew better though, for so long she had conditioned herself not to fall into these trappings and be made a fool of but without fail, she had let her guard down and hired this fraud, this, this liar. It hurt her to admit that, it hurt her more than any curse or slashing of flesh ever could. To look at him, to see into his eyes the man who had brought so much hope into the lives of everyone in the office and know that he was a conman liar was as if he twisted the knife and buried it in her heart.

As she finished speaking, one word infuriated John, one word she said outraged him more than any other. In repetition, John said "Dawn?" With a content expression from a job well done, Dawn's eyes answered him while her lips did not. She looked at him as if to say you got what you deserved. After he spoke her name and gazed in her direction, in one instant, in the time it took for his welling eyes to blink, his entire world crumbled around him.

How, why, how did this happen he demanded to know. He had done everything, everything they had ever asked of him, everything the world had ever asked of him. He had an honest job, he worked hard, he found a nice girl, he was friendly to everyone he met. Why, why was everyone trying to destroy him? Didn't they understand, couldn't they see how hard I've worked for all this, he thought? It was not supposed to be like this, life is not supposed to be like this. He brutally berated his mind with these thoughts.

He could not fathom it; he did not want to fathom it. He just wanted to run away. Run from everyone and everything and escape it all. Anxiety slipped everything around him into an intense daze. Faces faded and the office décor washed away into a mahogany meld of surreal colors and hazy images. Sweat pouring from his face and forming puddles on the floor, he dazedly backed out of the meeting room and turning around, began to run. With each step his speed and recklessness increased as he roughly dashed passed each cubicle and chair. The coworkers watched in confusion as he manically ran out of the meeting room. They followed suit as well, trying to keep up with him.

It was at that moment they realized what John was running at as they breathlessly saw him charging towards the glass windows on the south wall of the office. And then, in a magnificent crash of flesh and glass, John broke through the windows and fell ten stories. Their knifed eyes bled tears of imminent horror as they watched and waited for the macabre visual of his body hitting the pavement below. Fearing their former friend and now unknown stranger had commit suicide before their very eyes they stood at the destroyed window panes paralyzed, looking at his body fall. In what felt like an eternity, his body descended to the ground, and they each were visited by sickening conceptions of what it would look and sound like when he careened against the concrete.

To their gruesome surprise, as John splattered onto the concrete, his body immediately burst into a massive light brown puddle of clay that thickly slithered into the sewer drains beneath the building of Wayne Tech. The thunderous sound of the clay hitting the pavement produced a near deafening sound wave that shook the entire office and knocked the employees off their feet, leaving them all speechless.

In a terrifying instant, they came to the noxious realization that they had driven John Andrews out, and driven out Clayface.


	7. Chapter 7

It had been three months since that day. Much had changed. Much had not. Wayne Tech had been shut down for an entire month as a precaution if Clayface returned for vengeance. After the initial month had passed, there still had been no sign of Clayface. With no other alternative, management was forced to reopen Wayne Tech. The employees and premises were all constantly guarded by security and police, but still, there was never a sighting of Clayface.

Although they did not see Clayface during those three months, his presence was all around them. He was there in their uneasy, disjointed laughter as they tried to go on with their guilt ridden lives. His presence plagued the office not unlike the musty smoke venting from the boiler room. He was there, deep inside each and every one of them, shaking them to their very core. They had no idea when, where, or how he would attack them.

Sadly, they also never truly understood why he would attack them.

Despite their consuming anxiety, they were forced to go on with their lives without anymore security or police watch. As they approached the third month with still no sign of Clayface, Commissioner Gordon just could not justify diverting man power and police resources to 24 hour surveillance of Wayne Tech any longer. No one told the truth, the whole truth to the police. Surely they told the police that Clayface had walked among them and how after being exposed, he jumped through the window out of the building. They did not, nay, they could not tell the police about who John Andrews really was, and what he had meant to them. They were perhaps more afraid to confront themselves than confront Clayface.

So on the first day of the third month Wayne Tech opened without any extra protective measures, save the additional security guards and surveillance system recently installed. The days had grown colder and the weather was overcast. The day went on miserably normal. Listless faces abounded as each worker was preoccupied with their shared sense of vulnerability.

Ms. Stevenson had become distant and turned inwards after the incident. Never again, she swore to herself. Depressingly, she meant it. For the rest of her days she would never truly trust another human being again. Her days unraveled as if she were an automaton programmed to conduct business and oversee the workers; nothing more, nothing less. At night, alone, every so often she would be visited by memories of a good friend she once had. Just as quickly she would remember that everything she liked about him was a mere illusion. She never showed it, in fact she never showed any emotion at all hereafter, but she was terrified Clayface would return and exact his revenge on them, and it was only a matter of time. His goodness was as deceiving as the clay that composed him, or so she wanted to believe.

Of all people, Clayton Matthews drew no long term satisfaction from the demise of John Andrews. All along Clayton wanted John out of the picture, but was he himself ready to step into his place? Clayton never could, nor even legitimately wanted to be the life of the office or an ambitious worker. He merely wanted things to just go back to the way they were. John had brought change to their dingy, woeful work environment. John had brought hope, to which Clayton returned despair. Arrogantly, Clayton did not genuinely fear a strike by Clayface. A part of him could not feasible be afraid of something he had yet to experience. He reassuringly dismissed that Clayface would ever return for the single reason that in three months, he had not.

To close the first day without police protection, Ms. Stevenson called everyone in for a meeting. Amid the litigation, she stoically hearkened to everyone to keep on working and to not get distracted. The meeting room was no longer a social gathering place. Rather it had degenerated back into just another lifeless four walled room devoid of any energy.

Upon the meeting's conclusion, Ms. Stevenson dismissed everyone for the day. Each worker gathered their belongings and headed out of Wayne Tech. One employee however, decided to say a little longer in the meeting room and tidy it up a bit. Ms. Stevenson took notice of this and said, "Dawn, you're free to leave." As if a mouse had voice, Dawn replied, "…I know, but I just wanna straighten the room up a bit. It's a mess here." Ms. Stevenson wanted to wish her a good night, but she found herself already coldly walking out the room and then out the building before realizing she had said nothing at all to Dawn.


	8. Chapter 8

Nothing in this world ever felt right to Dawn in the past three months. For the duration of the meeting she fixated on so many blemishes of the room. She found herself compulsively cleaning her desk or rearranging the furniture in her apartment. Everything in the past three months felt off to her. Everything felt wrong. After the meeting had ended, she felt as if she had to stay in the meeting room and push in all the chairs and reorganize the place.

She couldn't bear to see things the way they were.

Satisfied with what she had done, Dawn softly tiptoed of the meeting room, turned out the light, and creakily shut the door. Heading towards the elevator she saw the security guard on duty. He was new. He tipped his hat in her direction and pushed the button to open the elevator for her. Dawn was pleasantly surprised by his politeness and though that he looked like a nice guy.

Preparing to walk into the elevator, the guard said to her, "Miss, I think you may have forgotten your purse in the meeting room." Absent mindedly, Dawn had rested her bag down on her chair in the meeting room before she began to shape the place up and did not remember to go back for it. Slightly embarrassed, Dawn blushed and then hurriedly entered into the meeting room.

There on the seat was her purse and she reached over and picked it up. Putting it over her shoulder, she said aloud to the guard, "Thanks, I almo-" and tearing through her last breath, Dawn's throat constricted as she roughly felt a rush of thick clay wrap around her neck. She could not speak, she could hardly breathe, but her eyes managed to turn and face the direction from where the clay around her neck extended. From across the meeting room was the security guard, a gushing river of pulping clay extending from his left arm.

Then it happened, before her eyes she saw the crisp security guard shirt and pressed pants melt into a hideous compost of dark brown clay. Had he not been strangling her, she would have vomited from the disgusting metamorphosis of flesh to clay. Even more sickening were those eyes, those marring, ghastly eyes bulging out. From where a man's face once was, now were the eyes of this bludgeoning monster, this Clayface.

Imprisoned in his grip, Clayface's extended flood of clay coarsely reeled her in closer to him, her hip scraping against his flowing clay torso. She could not see, but she could hear his right hand ascend in the air and transform into a razor sharp blade, preparing for the death strike. Dawn was beyond fright, beyond terror. Her cheeks were on the verge of exploding due to the massive tension of blood and oxygen being denied passage through her throat.

With her in his grasp and in position to sever her head, Clayface began to speak. His voice was an amalgamation of rage and pain, scathingly mouthing the words that had built up for months. "I loved you, I loved you…" She squirmed, causing his tone to fill with sadistic vitriol and he went on, "Afraid? You should be. I can feel every last beat of your heart ripple through my body. Every trickle of your spilt blood will atone for what you did to me. Fortunately for you, I can only maim and slaughter your worthless flesh, but you," his grip on her jugular tightened as he spoke, his voice growing more grave, "you destroyed me, you killed me in every way a person can be killed."

Dawn struggled to speak, clawing with her teeth as if digging out from within the earth. Taking notice, Clayface loosened his grip on her throat an inch in morbid curiosity to hear what she had to say to him. In the most wretchedly panicked voice, Dawn wrestled to form words, sweat dripping from her face and she screamed, "I-I-It was Clayton, C-Clayton's idea, I swear! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

This enraged Clayface, his eyes widening, his grip again strengthening, "…You're Sorry? YOU'RE SORRY?! YOU'RE SORRY YOU'RE GOING TO DIE! YOU'RE SORRY YOU'RE HELPLESS, ALONE HERE WITH NO ONE TO HEAR YOU SCREAM!" His voice leveled, which unsettled Dawn even more because a part of her quietly agreed with him, and he continued, "…but you are not sorry about what you've done to me," and as he said that, he scared himself as he let out an uncontrollable nervous laugh, and he went on venomously, "…you probably don't even realize how you've treated me. You tore my heart out; I wish to do the same."

The time had come. Clayface lanced his arm in its scythe shape and prepared to hack his former lover to bloody mounds of skin and bone. Flashing before her eyes, Dawn came to the revelation that her life seemed so miniscule and insignificant. She had spent 25 years on this earth, but she would give or steal anything for even just a few more seconds of life. She had never, ever in her life been so afraid. Her body fought against her, her glands swelled, sweat covered her body, and her bowels ached and betrayed her. In honesty, she conceded that she had never known fear until now.

However, as he readied to strike, a chilling wind blew into the meeting room, startling the two of them. His focus momentarily shifted as he looked around the room with his hawk-like stare. There, in the far corner, a window was open. Dawn assumed the window had blown open, but Clayface knew the better, he had been in all too similar situations too many times in the past. Clayface knew the two were now three.

As if the shadows themselves took form and life, a third voice cut threw the air, as visceral as it was intimidating, "Let her go Hagan." Immediately Clayface recognized the voice, his initial suspicion verified. Though Clayface could not see him, he knew somewhere in the meeting room was Batman.


	9. Chapter 9

Batman's ghostly voice cloaked the meeting room, shivering Dawn to her very soul. She could neither see him nor had she ever heard his, its, voice before. Irregardless of this third party joining the fray she felt no safer. The ensuing chaos and fear had shattered her frail sense of security, and now Dawn had no idea whatsoever whether he was here to save or slay her.

Clayface aggressively continued clutching Dawn and spoke out to the darkness, "Justice must be served Batman." Drawing strength from his hurt and resolve, Clayface passionately went on, "I tried; I tried to change. I tried to change and live a normal, simple little life, but they wouldn't let me. They wouldn't let me." As he inhaled, he dejectedly closed his grotesque eyes, and stated, "They made me."

Matt Hagan's words chipped away at Batman's detached state of mind and turgid exterior. Listening to him speak, Batman couldn't help but grow angrier and angrier at each word. Batman knew the truth; he knew what they had done to him. The other employees never divulged to the police but they conversed amongst themselves. For the past 3 months Batman had been stealthily patrolling the Wayne Tech building in case of an attack by Clayface. In that time he had heard things that disgusted him. He heard of how an honest, decent man had been deconstructed and discarded as if a human being were no better than common refuse. Staying to the shadows now, a part of Batman truly did sympathize with Hagan and all he had gone through, but still, above all else, Batman could not allow Clayface to harm this woman or anyone else.

Gutturally, Batman spoke again from inside the darkness, this time his voice glinting with a ray of hope, "Let her go Hagan." Darkly Clayface answered Batman, unearthing his deepest disappointments and failed expectations of life, saying, "I did everything the world told me to do; everything. I tried to reform, but they wouldn't let me. They just wouldn't let me live. They lied to me; the world, life lied to me. I tried to change…"

Hearing his melancholy words aloud, Clayface soberly turned to look at Dawn, still in his grasp, and in an embittered, defeated tone he stated, "…but there are always people like her; always." Silently Batman agreed with Hagan, knowing all too well the bleak realities of life. With a solemn face, Batman stared back at his opponent, the man on opposing sides of the battle. Before him was a monster, a creature of blood and cruelty prepared to dispatch a helpless woman. Batman saw something else as well. Right in front of his eyes was a man, a human being whom the world had crushed every dream, hope, and belief he ever dared to have of all that life could be. He saw a man of misery fighting against something he could never win.

Batman undeniably saw a kindred spirit, another unfortunate victim exposed to the untimely barbarism this savage world had to offer. Like Clayface, Batman had long ago come to the realization that the world is an ugly, shadowed monster that strikes in ways few can ever see. Nevertheless, Batman knew in his heart of hearts that revenge was not and would never be the way to change it. That night he and Clayface equally saw life for what it was, but their splintering means of facing life incontrovertibly fixed them on opposite sides of the table. Whereas one saw the only solution to life in destruction, the other believed in construction.

Still, Batman gave Hagan one final chance, and in an altruistic tone Batman pleaded with him to stop this madness, "Let her go Hagan." Back and forth in his mind, Hagan incessantly quarreled with himself. A part of him was willing to listen, a part of him was willing to let Dawn go and walk away from this living nightmare. Sadly, that part of Clayface had long been killed three months ago; murdered by paranoia, jealous, and lies.

His grip trembling, Dawn could almost taste freedom once more. Maybe he would let me go after all, Dawn desperately prayed. Violently shaking as he debated his course of action, Clayface wanted to let it go, he wanted more than anything to let go of it all, but he couldn't; he just could not let it go. In a tortured scream of submission, Clayface yelled out into the night, "…I CAN'T, I CAN'T LET IT GO!"

Immediately, Clayface's merciless aggression peaked. Still in the form of a scythe blade, his right hand cocked back slightly, and prepared to gorily execute his former lover. As a primal growl escaped his salivating mouth, Clayface hurriedly began to slash towards Dawn, captive in his other hand. Hearing Hagan cry out in a yell, Batman knew he was too late to save Hagan, and knew he would have to act now to save the woman.

Leaping from across the meeting room, the dark knight emerged from the shadows and jump-kicked Clayface directly in the face, his foot indenting the clay composing his face. Dawn immediately dropped to the floor as she felt the suffocating stranglehold of Clayface's hand loosen its grip and let her go. The heaving impact of the blow sent his clay body several feet back, smacking against the north wall of the meeting room. Picture frames, windows, and plants all vibrated and shattered as they too felt the tremor of Clayface's body crack against the wall.

Caught in the middle of all the chaos, Dawn was momentarily catatonic. She could not process the visual before her. She had never seen the Batman before, and right here, right now, watching him combat a monster, a man she once loved, was too much for her to digest. Her throat ached, her breathing was stilted, and she fought not to throw up. It was then that it had hit her; this epic fight going on mere steps away from her was academic. Clayface, John Andrews had already lost the true fight. She could stomach no more, and placing her hand in sorrowful shame over her mouth, she quickly ran from the battle scene, entered the elevator, and forever left Wayne Tech.

Standing tall, Batman was instantly taken off guard as an unending torrent of clay charged towards him, forcibly thrusting Batman through the thick wall of the meeting room several feet into the main area. Amidst the jarring pain of crashing through the wall and being plowed through the chairs and desks in the main area, Batman could feel Clayface's extended clay arm snap around his foot, feverishly dragging Batman back towards him. Looking up while being pulled at a lightning pace, Batman momentarily glimpsed that in front of him waited Clayface's other hand, now in the shape of a colossal brick wall.

Batman knew he had to escape his grasp, and he forced both hands as well as his one free leg flatly onto the ground as he slid towards Hagan. With every ounce of strength he had, Batman managed to propel himself up from the ground by jumping into the air, effectively breaking Clayface's grasp. Soaring midair, he focused on Clayface's brick wall hand, and somersaulting off of it, gracefully landing far into the corner of the meeting room.

However, as soon as he landed in the corner, Clayface had anticipated his maneuver and expectantly swung his brick wall hand and slammed directly into Batman's side, damaging his left arm and ribs. The monumental force of the blow drove all the air out of him, and in addition, his arm had temporarily gone numb. Taking notice of his opponent's injury, Clayface continued on the offensive and viciously lanced a spear like extension of his arm at Batman. Swiftly, Batman dodged the spear and it surged through the wall behind Batman, striking the infrastructure of the building. Nevertheless, Clayface's intensity did not waver, and from there he rigidly sawed his spear arm through the infrastructure towards Batman who avoided the spear by running along the perimeter of the room.

Observing the damage the spear arm had done to the integrity of the corner of the room, Batman quickly composed his strategy for defeating Hagan. Quickly leaping to the west corner of the room, Batman remained near the far corners of the room, driving the near feral Clayface to send his spear arm to impale him. However, Batman dodged the spear arm once more, causing it to crash into the corner of the room support beam. Batman could feel the support beams rupture, while Clayface could only hear the feint heartbeats of his opponent, his prey, fueling his already burning desire just to destroy, maim, and kill anything and everything.

Rolling towards the third corner of the room, Batman deftly avoided the spear arm a final time and watched as it eviscerated a third principle support beam. Immediately, Batman knew his stratagem had succeeded as the whole ceiling began to collapse around them. Clayface, fully consumed by rage, was blinded by his thirst for blood and did not realize things were falling apart all around him until it was too late; always just too late. Realizing this was his one chance for victory Batman wasted no time and headed towards the same window he had snuck in through. There, he removed his grappling hook and readied himself to leave before the rest of the ceiling caved in. The quaking building rattled Batman and for a second, he shook as he crouched in the window. In that same second, in that fleeting moment in time, he looked back and saw a truly disturbing and sorrowful image.

As chunks of the Wayne Tech ceiling and higher floors dropped from the sky and crushed Clayface, Batman saw a man whose world was falling down all around him. Batman, like Clayface, was helpless to prevent the fall, and before Batman suffered the same fate as Clayface, he repelled out of the collapsing Wayne Tech building to safety. In his final minutes of consciousness, Clayface was tormented by rogue emotions of anger, sadness, confusion, and perhaps most of all, regret. With the fall of the building's entirety onto Clayface, smothering and crushing him beneath its weight, he faded out of consciousness, thinking only that he regretted even trying.

Not long after, the police had arrived on the scene. Touring through the rubble and debris they found the unconscious body of Matt Hagan, pinned down beneath tons of marble, concrete, and steel. Eventually they were able to dislodge him and take him into custody. The police and reporters equally considered it an open and shut case.

From afar, Batman watched as Clayface was placed in specialized containment and carried off in police custody to return to prison. Batman could feel the midnight air wrap around him. The thick clouds above head signified a persistence of the somber weather afflicting the city.

Tomorrow it would rain.


End file.
